The Magic Bullshit Shield


I imagine something and make it viewable. I write something and make it imaginable. I + mage = Image. We are all mages, tricksters and creators. ALL of us. How this expresses itself is the only variable.

I respond, with my tactile senses, to something and it moves me to a non-tactile ‘place.’ It moves me to the ‘mage magic’ place. This is expressed in so many ways. When I was young there was a girl who was on the cheerleading squad. I only have seen this once in my life and I have seen many cheerleading squads but she was exceptional.


I tried to figure it out for a long time. She had short, dirty dishwater blond hair. She had terrible acne. She could not do the splits of any of the fancy stuff the rest of the squad did. Her parents were poor and not ‘town team sponsors’ (which will often get an ‘average’ girl an ‘exceptional’ placement.) She was NOTHING at all like a cheerleader and she was not even a SNOB!

She was like no one I ever met and I liked her and so did everyone else. I asked her, while riding that ugly yellow signature school-bus, what her secret was. See, at that time, everyone was calling me a ‘witch’ and so I was studying that. In those days, way out in the tall grass boonies of Oklahoma, in those ranch town libraries, about the only thing you could find was about the Salem Witch Trials. She looked at me in a strange way and then she said, “I am happy and I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I am happy anyway.”

She really WAS happy but there was more to it than that. Her personality ‘stuck out’ farther than her skin. Her soul was larger than her body. After that I started to LOOK AT people and LOOK INTO them. I learned this:

The two do not always match.

There are those walking around in this world who are very powerful people and yet do not fit any descriptors of what a powerful person should look like or be. In doing this I met many such people over the course of my life. There was the young man who was the shortest, most snaggle toothed kid in the school and yet, when he played music, the girls who hung out with the homecoming queen would ask him out on dates. Once his band mates asked him what his secret was and why weren’t they getting any action as they were tall and ripped in comparison to him. He just smiled and shook his head.

There was the hippie English teacher who was weird and stoned and yet we learned more in her class, than we ever would learn anywhere else, about language and how it works. She was tall and strange with wild black hair and everyone made fun of her. She didn’t care what they thought.

It wasn’t the ‘I don’t care’ that is a REACTION to bullies and their bull shit but an ACTION that told the bullshit people, before they reached that stage, that their bullshit was not going to work.

That was the secret. Understanding what bullshit is and making yourself impervious to it.

Bullshit proof.

So for the New Year hits that is my wish for all my friends: that you keep, or learn to wield, your magic ‘bullshit shield.’

Fields of Gold

Sting singing Cassidy’s ‘Fields of Gold’.

It reminds me of my youth….

He was a ‘bad guy’…it wasn’t so much that he was the most beautiful he was not even close…I had the most beautiful many years later…but I had not met him yet to love him…Something about those brown eyes snagged me…Brown eyes were rare in these parts then. Lanky, lambhu tall with laughing eyes and a delightful liars smile….he was the ultimate trickster. He could pull quarters out of your ears and make kabootar disappear in thin air…he was a real life Magician. He was also the only person in 1000 miles who knew anything about SW Asia. It was a common interest…he for the Djinni and me for the archaeology and history. We were not each others type…but we could not help it we fell in love at the local disco…I stayed faithful to him for three years until I married him when I was 19.

Welcome to the world of drugs and alcohol. Not the experiments that were a one time thing…but the daily events of pushing and buying. Welcome to the world of Rock and Roll…Vitame Vas from the post-card of Oklahoman Bohemia…

Sometimes the loves of my life come back to haunt me. I cannot forget any of them. There are days they are stars in my empty skies and nights they are mountains that crush my soul…but I loved with all of me every time. You never lose love…it stays with you.

It was not until much later in life that the wisdom of ‘staying a rose’ became preferable to what was already too late to forget. You see you never forget love. Every love you ever had walks through dreams and memories and when you are young and strong and healthy it seems so easy to hunt down another one…maybe this one will make you forget?????

It does not work that way.

Like diamonds on rusty chains that bind you for eternity they mock you with the unreachable glow of what was….

….how I envy the innocent.

Youth believes it wants and desires ‘THE ONE’….age knows that when you get ‘the one’ that one becomes a human being and like a house you rent that is awesome for two weeks becomes tainted with time as the flaws and cracks become evident to it’s inhabitant…and yet when we leave the house we cry over every bit of chipped sheet rock….we may never tell anyone or we may tell the world but you cannot dump your brain like you can your desktop….

He was a ‘bad-guy’. With him I learned about the world of deception and police officers beating him and cuffing him and carrying him off and how he made them so angry with his Houdini-like knowledge of Yoga: They could never handcuff him and it made him laugh so they beat him while he cussed them. The part of him the world never saw was the part that cried over a missing mother and a broken family and a kind of hopelessness that was unrelenting. How we could dance! How his smile flashed in the mirrored lights! How drunk I was as I walked up the church isle to say the words in front of the priest and how much I loved him he never knew.

One year together and we were divourced. I asked him and I divourced him and learned too much about how my mother delighted in every divource and how she lived her desire through me in each one…I was and am still the needed vessel.

He hit me. no one does that and walks off scot free.

I would strip tease to make money for him. I would let him drive me to see clients… I would do anything for him but let him hit me.

I got a letter from him from Lexington. he won’t be leaving until he is 65. ‘Pulled one too many a gun in shoot-outs with the cops…stole one too many bags of dope…

…but once upon a time when the world was young he smiled at me and pulled a quarter from my ear…

…You never forget who you have loved…never.